Months In A Year (The Times Of Fatherhood Series)
by Mystic Sorrow
Summary: Twelve years of love, twelve years of pain. Bruce always knew bringing a child into his life would have its consequences, both the bad and the good; Monthly story, twelve shot.
1. February

**February 14**

**Wayne Manor, Gotham**

Bruce glared at the small stack sitting before him.

Bruce Wayne cherished few things; five to be exact.

One, a good cup of coffee. Any buffoon could make something and call it _coffee_, but only someone with true character for perfection and hand for the art can make a coffee blend that makes your taste buds sore and sigh with content.

Two, justice for those of the deserving. Not for everyone, just those who deserve it. It's not something you just hand out on a whim, it's something you strive for, that you work hard for. It shows true colors, builds who you are. Be it bad or good.

Three, darkness. It hides you when you want to be hidden, but it doesn't hide what, or who, you are. Darkness is truth, and Bruce takes pride in the fact is a linguist when it comes to the dialect of truth and darkness.

Four, the gold pocket watch left to him by his late father. It was supposed to be given to him by said father when he graduated college, Gotham State Academy has housed the graduates of five Wayne generations, and was to symbolize his becoming a man in his father's eyes.

And lastly, but most certainly not least, is the newest addition to Bruce's very limited list of cherished things. Richard, Dick, John Grayson, nine year old ward of said Wayne. Bruce's favorite pass time and vacation spot is held in the cerulean gaze of pure adoration and innocence held for the man who holds this list so close to his heart.

But no where, no where on said list is it stated Bruce Thomas Wayne particularly enjoys receiving letters written on pink parceled paper with purple ink confessing their undying love sitting atop his Wayne family mahogany desk.

Thirty two were delivered to his house, Bruce didn't even want to imagine how many he would find sitting around his office. For the past seven years, he had always made it a point to miss work on Valentines Day. Not worth the risk.

Bruce was busy clumping all the unopened documents into his hands he barely noticed the door open. He expected it to be Alfred, whom he had just recently sent to retrieve a trash bag to throw the papers into (but now that he thought about it, burning would be faster).

"What're you doing?" a tiny voice asked.

Bruce didn't bother to turn his head up, rather just allow his gaze to drift up and let the boy giggle at the sight of the billionaire's slightly raised eyebrows.

The child stood before him at the front of his desk, his arms crossed and face gently rested atop them. Dick barely reached the height of the massive thing, lightly elevating himself so as to be more level. Bruce slowly sat back to his full stature, tapping the stack against the surface to force the papers into a neater stack to destroy.

"Just taking out the trash, chum." Bruce replied.

Dick made a small noise of understanding as he rocked himself on the balls of his feet back and forth.

Bruce smirked. "You need something?"

The boy said nothing for a moment, and Bruce just went back to his previous task before he heard the high pitched voice quietly ask, "Did you get Valentines letter too?"

Bruce raised his eye brow at his son who was suddenly looking at something under the edge of the desk, a gentle mask of pick dusting his childish cheeks.

"Just the usual," Bruce informed. "You?"

Dick's face tightened in embarrassment. "Some girls gave me some at school."

"Oh?"

Dick only nodded.

Bruce almost chuckled at the boy's demeanor. He may be the Dark Knight of Gotham, but there were moments like these where Dick would just be so _adorable_ he wanted to just pull him into his arms and keep him nine, almost ten, years old forever.

"Well that's nice." Dick made another face. "Or not."

"Valentines Day is for when you love someone, right?" Dick stated more then asked. "But some of these girls I've never even talked to before. How can you give love to a complete stranger?"

_Oh, Dickey. Please stop. You're killing me._ Bruce moaned internally.

"Yes, I guess you could say that. But maybe they don't love you, they just have a little crush on you." Bruce said as he stood up from his chair.

"I mean, that makes since, I guess..." Dick mumbled.

Bruce grinned as he crouched to be eye level with his son.

"Did you make anyone a Valentines?" Bruce asked, placing his hands gently on his shoulders. "Got anyone special in mind?"

Dick's eyes momentarily flickered up to meet his before they darted back to the ground.

"I made one." He said softly.

"Yeah? Someone at school winning your heart already?"

_Please say no, I'd rather deal with a girlfriend when you're a little older. Maybe when you're more around the age of 24. I want to keep you to myself a little while longer._

Dick finally turned his full attention to his father, only to give him a small grimace. "Not exactly."

Bruce chuckled and stood, leading the boy out of his office by a gentle nudge of the shoulder.

"Well whoever it was is lucky to have such a committed admirer." Bruce smiled down at him. "Now come on, we've got a meeting to go to and I'd rather not have Clark bombard me with more accusations of being late again."

* * *

Batman pulled the batmobile into the cave around eleven o' clock at night, making it an earlier night then usual. With a quiet night of two robberies and an attempted rape, Batman decided it best to head home when Robin almost fell off a gargoyle from falling asleep for a few minutes.

Batman walked over to the other side of the car to gently pull out the tiny bundle wrapped in the black cape of his mentor. His forehead pressed against Batman's neck as the boy squirmed into a more comfortable position, never waking as he snuggled into the strong chest that held him.

Batman lightly set him up in the chair before the batcomputer, sitting him up to have better access to the sleeping child. The Dark Knight slowly peeled off the domino mask to reveal closed eyes and wind blown cheeks. Batman carried him back to the changing area to pull on the child's pajamas. After replacing the cape for a spare blanket kept downstairs for this very situation, Batman placed the sleeping child atop the examination table.

A quick shower and costume change later, Bruce was pulling his son back into his arms and carrying him up to his room. The elephant night light glowed dimly in the wall beside his queen sized bed, casting a shadow over the sleeping angel's face.

"Night, chum." Bruce whispered, kissing the boy's black locks.

"Master Richard seems to be thoroughly exhausted after tonight's occurrences." Alfred commented when Bruce walked into the kitchen moments later.

"I think I need to limit his week day patrols more." Bruce sighed.

"Good luck trying to explain that to the boy."

Bruce only grunted in response.

"While you were out I took the liberty of disposing of the letters you wished burned."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred gave him a mischievous look. "But I noticed one in particular you might want to see for yourself."

Bruce groaned. "Come one, Alfred. You know all those letters say the exact same thing they have since I was eleven."

Alfred only grinned. "Of course, Master Bruce, but I implore you to see the letter that I left on your desk."

Bruce watched the older man walk out of the room without another word. Bruce knew he shouldn't let his curiousness get the better of him, but in the end the questioning feeling won. Bruce walked back to his office, quietly opening the door and going over to the Wayne family desk.

As his butler had said, there was in deed a letter sitting neatly in front of his chair, waiting to be read. Bruce reached for the crisp white paper, unfolding the crease to see neat but childish hand writing scrawled across the paper.

"_Bruce,_

_I know these things are supposed to be for girls and all that, but really there's no one else I wanted to give a letter to. I just wanted to tell you that I'm very grateful for everything you've done for me in the last year. You've been so nice and you didn't have to take me in but you did anyway. So thanks. Also for the other thing you gave me, but I probably shouldn't put on paper if someone else sees it. Unless you burn this, then I guess it wouldn't really matter, huh? Plus, knowing you, you'd keep it for yourself and not show it to ANYONE. Anyway, whatever you're gonna do, I just really want you to know, thank you for everything. And I love you. Not in the Valentines Day kinda way, but the other way. _

_-Dick"_

Bruce's mouth hung agape for the first ten minutes after he had reread the letter at least six times. Had this been there all day? How could he have missed it? Could he really have clumped his child's letter to him in with the other pathetic attempts at his affection, when no one other then Dick would ever receive it and already has?

Bruce read through it once more before he gently folded it back along the crease and placed it in the top drawer of his desk.

He sat back, and didn't move for a very long time. Then, he smiled. Not to anyone or because of anything. But because his little bird said he loved him, and not in the Valentines way, but in the daddy way. And no one else in the world was going to get that love from his son other then him.

* * *

**So, yes I have ANOTHER new story. I know, what am I doing? But this one will hopefully be a little easier to handle, and it will at least give you guys one story with a monthly update rather then the sporadic updates for Trials Of A Parent and Those Baby Blues. So, this is a monthly story so one for each month, but as you can see this says February, but it's March. I didn't have a chance to publish this until now so lets all just pretend this got out in February for the sake of chapters. Just means ya'll get two in March! Whoot! So, I'm hoping I'll have march up on Dick's birthday, but really, who knows. This story also goes where each chapter is the next year, except for the next chapter which really takes place a month later since he will be turning ten in the next chapter. So, by the end Dick _should_ be 20.**

** And this is part of my The Times Of Fatherhood series. It's basically a series of a bunch of fatherly stories that are made up of categories that have nothing to do with each other. The other installation I'm working on is my Percy Jackson and Poseidon version that will be called Years In A Lifetime. I only have Batman and PJatO in the series right now, but I am open to suggestions for categories for any stories you guys want to see. So if you think of any cute father/son (maybe daughter) series you guys wanna see. Hit me up with suggestions and I'll let you know if I know about it. I'm playing with the possibility of Death the Kid and Death from Soul Eater, but IDK right now. **

**Thanks for reading and keeping up with my many stories and crazy writing schedule! Less then three!**


	2. March

**March 21**

**Gotham City, 3:34 AM**

_You son of a bitch,_ Bruce cursed silently as he slammed his cowl onto the control panel in front of him. _How could you do something like this to him?_

The billionaire paced around the cave, long strides carrying him quickly along the large perimeter. Batman had known it was late, but what he hadn't guessed was that the clock would read three in the morning when he finally stepped out of the Batmobile and into the comfort of the cave. Curses, punches and something most paparazzi would deem a "Rich boy temper tantrum".

_You promised, _Bruce harshly cried to himself. _You promised him you would be home today, that it was a special day for just the two of us. Then the police scanner said Scarecrow had escaped and was knocking out the GCPD numbers quickly. He smiled and said it was fine, but you said you'd be home in time to eat cake and open presents. Now look what you've done._

Bruce paused in his feverish steps, letting a shaky breath fall from his tightly pressed lips. He craned his neck to gaze at the dimly lit stair case leading up to the thing most people call a great life and a disappointed son.

Sighing, Bruce slowly made his way to the costume area where he peeled the thick Kevlar from his limbs. Quickly showering, scrubbing the dirt and guilt off his body, Bruce finally felt he had enough courage to face what he had coming once he was back on the surface.

The house was dark and empty. The kitchen light softly illuminated the halls and dinning room. Bruce slowly approached a lone single teared cake resting atop the marble counter, fleck of chocolate crumbs and choppy strawberry icing decorating the plate. Dick had asked Alfred if he could help make it because it was a tradition in his family.

_My parents waited till I woke up and we'd all make the cake together. _Dick had told him sadly the day before. _I always got to Ice the cake myself._

Bruce silently admired the pastry, trying to picture the scene in his mind. Dick would beg Alfred to let him ice the entire thing himself, but Alfred would get the boy to agree to turning the lazy susan for him and when needed guide the child's hand for steadier spreads.

The cake was untouched, which was strange in and of itself. Bruce didn't hear Alfred walk into the kitchen, but the slight shift in heaviness to the atmosphere was all he needed.

"I really screwed up this time, Alfred."

"I believe Master Richard understands that the city was in dire need of Batman's services." Alfred answered flatly.

Bruce flinched at the word choice. Dick should never believe anyone would come before him, at least not in Bruce's mind.

"Did he-"

"Master Richard specifically requested that he wait to open his presents and cut the cake once you arrived back home safely. Seeing as he is the birthday boy I could do nothing but agree to the terms."

Bruce nodded slightly, still to upset to face the older butler. "Where is he?"

Alfred shuffled around the island, coming beside his employer and gently picking the plate off the counter to be placed on the table in the dinning room for the morning.

"I believe the young master had taken refuge in the den." Alfred informed as he passed into the dinning room and out of Bruce's line of sight.

Bruce inhaled deeply through his nose, letting out the air under his breath. Bruce walked towards the man cave, as his father had told it bluntly to his mother when he was a child, tucked in the back corner of the lower level of the house. The room smelled of old leather and expensive wood polish. Couches, arm chairs and a flat screen TV were nestled through out the portion of the room, mainly expanding through the middle of the space. A small bar was neatly placed in the opposite corner, the side of the room off limits to the boy curled up on on the dark leather piece of furniture.

Bruce came to sit next to the little figure, wondering why the child had chosen to curl up with his Superman blanket when there were dozens of choices to choose from in this room alone. Bruce reigned in his anger, knowing if anyone had a right to be angry at this moment it was the one curled up in red and blue.

"I'm sorry, chum. I didn't mean to break my promise." Bruce whispered.

He ran his fingers lightly through his boy's dark locks. Dick cuddled closer to warmth sitting close to him, cuddling into the hand caressing his cheek. Bruce drew the child into his broad chest, the small head instantly settling in the crook of his neck.

Rubbing soft circles up his son's spine, Bruce left the Man of Steel themed garment abandoned on the sofa. The walk to his room was longer then any other, the halls more quiet and just slightly a little more darker. His son, his baby was ten. He had only been in his care for a little less than a year and he had already missed so much. In a few years he'd be in high school, then he'd have girlfriends, join the Justice League and go off on his own.

_Slow down, Bruce. Don't get ahead of yourself. It will be a long time before anything close to that happens. _

Still, just the thought made Bruce's arms tighten slightly around the small frame of his ward. Finally coming to the boy's room, Bruce gently pushed the door open with his shoulder and placed the child under the heap of covers. The light green walls added little lighting to the room at this hour, walls decorated with shelves of books and posters of the JLA, Batman, Superman and a lone image of The Flying Graysons hanging inches above the four poster bed.

Bruce continued the light massages upon his son's skull for a few moments. The boy continued his endless slumber, never waking when his father gently laid a small, green wrapped box on his side table. He waited to see if the boy might wake, but he only continued his slow breathing and unconscious state.

Realizing he needed to sleep himself, Bruce placed a single kiss atop the forehead of his sleeping boy. "Goodnight, son. Happy birthday."

**So, The YJ finale. Holy sob story, Batman! Saddest, stupidest thing I have ever seen. I'm not sayin' anything in case no one has seen it, but it's awful. I warn you, stay away from "End Game". I'm contemplating writing a one shot about the aftermath, but at the same time...I'd probs cry the entire time. But more importantly, some stories I've read have said they aren't writing any more YJ fics cause it makes them too sad. Please, don't do this. Sure it's sad, but this show went on for almost three years. I have given up so much time, effort, love and feels to stop enjoying this fandom and all its wonders. Come on guys! Stay strong for the fandom! Maybe someone will pick it up for another season (hopeful talk) :)**

**So, anyway, I know this isn't what anyone was expecting for a birthday fic but it's what I got! Sorry it's short, but the next one is Easter so if anyone has any ideas go ahead and give em to me :) The present Bruce gives Dick is up to your imagination. Sorry. Happy birthday, Dickie baby!  
**

**Until April! Thanks guys, enjoy and review! Less than three!**


	3. April

The night was cold, and unbearably so. Gotham was unusually quiet, the night air breezing smoothly through the buildings like water. Quiet footfalls danced across the twilight dance floor, tracing a path left by heavier foot prints.

Robin leaped across the skyline, flying silently through the midnight hour. Rushed pants came out into the air as humid air. The cardinal cape billowed hazardously behind him. Sixty seven. That was the sixty seventh building The Boy Wonder had ran across.

It was seven past three in the morning; way past his bed time. If he had been out here with Batman, Alfred would have reprimanded The Dark Knight as soon as the boy had been tucked in. But he wasn't out with Batman, and Alfred didn't _know_ he was out at all; let alone without his mentor.

Robin had purposefully disregarded the older men, the night had actually been on a quiet, normal schedule. Bruce had come home in time for dinner, taken Richard down to the cave to train, helped him with his homework, read the next chapter of _Lord of the Flies _and tucked him in before heading out for patrol.

An hour or so after falling asleep, Dick found himself sitting up in the darkness and wanting to be held. Dick silently scolded himself at first, he was eleven, he shouldn't need to be cuddled every time he woke up alone. But then . . . that was what he wanted. He wanted Bruce to give him a "Bruce" hug; that one only meant for him. That want was what pushed him out of his bed and treading barefoot down the halls. But after finally reaching his destination, he found the cave empty of warmth and of being.

Disappointed and lonely, Dick wrapped the ratty blanket he had dragged along closer around his shoulders. Wanting to feel some connection, Dick scrambled into the large worn leather chair seated in front of the computer. This was a constant occurrence in the Wayne home. Dick would wait patiently for his guardian to return, usually in the early morning hours, and be carried up flights of stairs into the master suite.

Most often, the boy would doze off and awake after hearing the Batmobile rumble back into its spot in the back of the cave. The vigilante would come back, bruised and tired. When Dick first learned of Batman's adventures he had loved exploring the dark spaces while the man was out on his nightly mission. Days were spent learning fighting techniques, weapons training and reading through case files. Nights were always the harder part. Nightmares and panic attacks plagued the child's mind more often after witnessing the aftermaths of his surrogate father's life choice.

Feet swung idly in the dim light. Picking at the edges of the blanket, Dick didn't notice the blinking signal on the computer at first; but finally his mind registered that the flickering shadows were making his head hurt.

Dick watched a blinking dot appear on a city map of Gotham that Bruce had had Dick memorize over a year ago. It was in the east district of the city, where the drug dealers usually did their major handouts.  
Dick wasn't as familiar with the east and south parts of Gotham because they were usually to far for Robin to venture on the weekends he was allowed out, and Batman was still to nervous about his partner's night experiences, despite fighting crime for _almost_ an entire year and a half.

The blinking dot seemed to be moving, but not fast enough to be traveling in a vehicle or anything going faster then three miles an hour. The circle was framed by a gray box that represented the abandoned shipping company from when Bruce was a kid.

Now, Dick wasn't stupid. That little blue dot was obviously his guardian out in the field, and Bruce had told him countless times that if he was ever in trouble he was to immediately inform Alfred, or if in the field escape as quickly as possible to the Batmobile where he could safely radio in the butler on hand or the Justice League. Dick was going to do just that. Until the dot blinked like it had been for the last few minutes and then never came back.

Batman and Robin both had tracking devices implanted into their utility belts and an emergency back up device in a hidden pocket of their left glove. There was no way Batman could have lost both signals. So why was there no second dot popping onto the screen?

Dick stared at the computer for a long, silent moment. He willed that dot to come back. Because he knew if it didn't, he would do something that would save his partners life (hopefully), but probably get him grounded from civilian and hero outings until he could legally move out of the house.

But it never came back.

And three minutes and forty three seconds later, Robin was riding the R cycle towards the east district.

Now hopping building to building in the direction of the shipping company, Robin realized his plan had many flaws. First, by leaving the R cycle three blocks back he had almost tripped his time. Lucius was still working on a silent engine for the motorcycle and Batman didn't like him using it when trying to keep stealth in the mission. Second, if Batman was in trouble and unable to handle it himself, how was an eleven year old acrobat supposed to do it?

The building wasn't as large of a company as you would think, but as Bruce would explain, back then they seldom were as big as companies today. Walls were spray painted, doors were rusted and windows barred resourcefully. An old fence weakly barred it off from the other buildings, giving it a good five yard bubble of extra space.

Robin lay crouched in the darkness, his knees aching from the dig of the concrete. Switching his lenses to infrared, the dark night was replaced by bright contrasting colors. At first, all he could see were the cold walls and empty halls. Then he got to the fourth floor. He could see a group of figures huddled in one room, pacing around the perimeter. There were two figures standing separately from the others, closer to the middle of the room. They were standing next to another figure that was on the floor. That figure wasn't moving.

Deciding he had to move fast, Robin grappled to the roof. Securing his grapple gun back onto his belt, Robin scouted out an entrance. There was a door sitting in the right corner, but it was locked and Robin knew Batman would never go through the only door. Finding an old air vent, Robin kicked it through and crawled into the dark space.

The air was heavy and humid. The old steel was easy to move against, but the cramped space made it difficult to crawl very fast. His neck was angled downward at a strange angle and his legs couldn't bend far enough to move him more then and inch at a time. After what seemed like hours but was really only twenty seven minutes, Dick found another air vent leading into another room.

He bashed his fist into the steel opening and tumbled through the opening with a perfect somersault. Robin guessed it was an old closet or storage room. There were a few brooms, a bucket and hundreds of spider webs strewn about the five by five space. A gloved hand softly fell on the door knob, twisting it slow enough to hear the springs creak with strain. The halls were empty, but Robin knew that the group of people were only two doors down.

The halls were completely black, the only light coming from the large street lamps stationed outside. Robin kept close to the wall, gently running his fingers across the chipped wall paper. Once he came in sight of the door, Robin froze. There _was_ no door. A perfect view inside the room gave him a final justification of the situation; and it was not good.

Five men stood around the room, stationing a good space between each and standing rock still against the walls. Each goon had a large gun held in their hands, ready to shoot and fire if needed. That wasn't what scared the eleven year old boy. The white painted face and another completely scarred profile were what would forever haunt his nightmares.

Robin had only run into Joker and Two face a few times in his short hero career, and he wished to keep it that way as did Batman. The first time Robin had encountered the Clown King, he ended up being tied over a pit of angry and malnourished alligators. No matter how hard Bruce tried, Dick was still scared to go to the zoo after that night. And while Joker's had been a more mental encounter, Two face would always be closer to the top of worst fights after Scarecrow; Scarecrow would always be the worst. Two face had took incentive to met the sidekick on his own terms.

While on patrol, Two face had actually kidnapped the boy and kept him successfully hidden from his mentor for four straight hours. Between the beatings, emotional abuse and two attempted drownings Robin didn't remember most of it. Richard on the other hand constantly relived it every other nightmare.

Robin was frozen by fear for a few moments before seeing the collapsed figure still lying in the middle of the room. Hunched over in a pool of black cloth and something shinier and lighter then black, was Batman. Though it should have been the opposite, the sight of his mentor unconscious sparked the final resolve for the boy.

Without making a sound, Robin threw in a barrage of smoke bombs before tumbling into the room. The guards with guns needed to go first. Running immediately to the left, Robin crouched to kick himself into the air and swiftly in range to barrel into the first man's chest. With a shocked scream the man fell, but not before his gun went off and bullets ricocheted through the room. As soon as his feet hit the floor Robin flattened himself and covered his face with his arms. Screams echoed around the small space and Robin heard two more bodies fall.

He jumped to his feet but was shoved back down just as fast. A strong grip closed around his throat. Robin clawed at the arm, but once he opened his eyes he felt what little breath he had left escape him.

Two face loomed centimeters from his face, his scratched and fleshy face starring darkly right into him.

"Well, if it isn't the little dove himself." Two face growled.

"Oo, a playmate!" A voice squealed. "You hear that, Batsy? I guess little Birdy didn't want to let daddy have all the fun."

Joker came around the back of the other criminal to smile a slow grin at the slowly suffocating child. Robin desperately flailed around for anything to use to help him escape. He knew the goon he had knocked over was only a few spaces away, if only he could grab his gun...

"What's the matter, boy?" Two face asked as he came closer. "Fist got your throat?"

His only response were quick gasps and moans of pain. Almost there, almost there, almost...

"Oh come now, Birdy, you just got here. It's rude to not answer your hosts questions." Joker threatened in a low voice.

Robin just stared at the two before swinging up his hand to back the loaded gun right into Two face's scarred half. Recoiling in pain and surprise, Robin fell against the hard floor with a thud and gulped in deep breaths. Before even regaining a steady heart beat, Robin tucked in his legs and shot his boots into the once District Attorney's chest. Two face thundered into Joker, sending both men straight into the concrete wall.

Robin shot to his feet and chucked knock out gas right in their faces. It took a few moments for Robin to approach the unconscious figures, but when he did he tightly zip tied their fists and pushed them into the farthest corner.

Tying the rest of the injured men up, Robin realized the other two must have escaped. Normally Batman and Robin would chase after any escaped criminals as soon as possible, but at this very moment he was just happy he could focus on other matters.

"Batman!"

Racing to his mentor's side, Robin quickly turned over the man to find a small puddle of blood lying beneath him. Robin felt his heart stop and his blood run cold. Moving the cowl to the side, Robin felt around his neck to find a soft pulse.

_Alive, Batman's still alive. _

"Batman," Robin frantically shook the man's shoulders. "Batman, you need to wake up. We needa go home."

This sequence of shaking and vocal prods continued until Robin pressed his sobbing face into his father's chest.

"Come on!" He shouted. "You need to wake up, dammit!"

"Don't let Alfred hear you say that."

At the sound of a gruff voice, Robin's head shot up and moved closer to the cowled face.

"In fact," Batman coughed. "I don't want to hear you say it."

"I promise," Robin blubbered through a thick voice. "I promise I won't say it again. I'm sorry."

Sobs tore through his chest in heated waves and soon he felt a weak fist grab hold of his arm.

"Robin, what are you doing here?"

Blinking back his tears, Robin focused on putting pressure on the gaping wound on his mentor's side. After a pained grunt, Robin responded.

"I went down to the cave and I saw the signal." He explained.

"You should have told Alfred." The man softly growled.

"And what would he have done?" Robin exclaimed through another rush of tears. "Strut in and ask Joker and Two face if they wanted a cup of tea?"

Silence. "You could have contacted the Justice League. Superman at least."

"As fast as Superman is, he wouldn't have gotten here in time and you know it." The boy muttered angrily.

Batman stayed on his back while his son applied pressure to his wound, grunting and moaning when he felt he would slip back into the blackness he had been in since coming into the factory. Slowly changing from blurriness and full on unconsciousness, Batman faintly heard Robin's soft voice pulling him back.

_Stay awake, _He growled to himself. _He needs you. Don't you dare leave him to watch another parent die in front of him._

"I need to call Superman," The boy whispered lamely. "I can't carry you home by myself."

Batman thought he nodded his approval, but he couldn't be sure. All he felt was the heat in his side and the feel of a thin arm under his hand.

"Superman?" Robin cried as soon as his signal went through. "Please, you need to come fast. No I'm with Batman and he's hurt real bad."

Silence followed.

"We're in the old factory in the east district. Okay, yeah. Just please...please hurry."

Robin looked down to find Batman quieter then when he had left him.

"Batman?" He squeaked.

He never got a response.

* * *

Bruce awoke to bright lights and the smell of all purpose counter cleaner. His body ached everywhere and his head spun when he tried to look around the room. Medical Bay of the cave. When did he...where-

"Bruce, thank God!"

The billionaire turned to see Clark walk through the doors and straight towards his bed. The man looked like he hadn't slept in hours and his usually nicely pressed clothes were unbuttoned and wrinkled everywhere.

"What?"

Clark came to stand beside him and looked at him with a sigh of relief.

"I was sure you were gonna die on me for a second there." He half joked.

Gently placing his hand on his friend's shoulder, Clark gave him an affectionate squeeze.

"What happened?" Bruce asked.

"Well," Clark began. "I guess after you infiltrated Joker and Two face they got the jump on you, huh?"

"I guess they did." Bruce grumbled.

"Well, you're lucky Dick came down to the cave when he did or else-"

"Dick?" Bruce quickly sat up and looked around the room. "Oh my God, he was there. He came and fought those psychopaths all by himself and..." His voice failed as he found the boy no where in sight. "Where is he?!"

"Don't worry," Clark soothed, trying to push the man back down and failing. "Alfred made him go upstairs to shower and eat something. He's been down here since we brought you in."

Bruce sadly looked up at the Man of Steel, asking the silent question.

"Three days." Clark disclosed with a sympathetic look.

Bruce slowly lowered his face into his hands. His son, his poor baby had saved his life and watched him almost die for three whole days.

He was an awful father. He was going to hell for sure.

"Is he-"

"Bruce!"

Dick came running into the room so fast, Bruce and Clark didn't have time to react as the eleven year old crawled on the bed and quickly into his father's waiting arms.

Cries and incoherent apologies came from the clump of father and son, leaving the friend to quietly slip out of the room and shut the door for their privacy.

"Sh, sh, Dicky," Bruce crooned as he kissed his boy's wet forehead.

He smelled like lemons. Alfred had started buying scented shampoos and such after the child had been brought into the household, and Bruce had to say he liked having a scent to identify with his son.

"I-I thought that, I didn't know..."

"Hush, baby, "Bruce drew the bow into his chest. "I know, I'm so sorry, Dicky."

Dick's throat was thick with tears, meaning all he could do was shake his head. He wrapped his arms around the stronger ones blanketing him from the world. He would never let go. No matter how much of a baby he was, he never wanted to see his daddy dying again.

"Please, I just wanna stay here," Dick hiccuped. "I just wanna stay with you."

Bruce could agree with that. Tightening his hold, he brought the boy down on the mattress with him. Dick curled into his father, his face digging into the man's collar bone.

"You can stay, I promise. No one is taking you from me, I promise, Dicky." Bruce swore.

He wiped the child's tears and then his own. Placing soft kisses along ebony hair, Bruce tucked the boy into his grasp.

"You can always stay."

* * *

**Wow, okay guys I am so sorry. School has been getting out of hand this past month with exams and such and I've gotten sick a lot but it's all good now! Promise! And I am hoping to have the next chapter for this month up before the end of this month but in case I don't, sorry. But three weeks of school and then I'm free! and my stories can all be updated and I can upload more frequently. Yeah! So, since I had no specific ideas for April, I thought a little adventure into Dick finding Bruce would be fun. And PS, I'm thinking most of these stories are going to be centered around Bruce and his point of view, but this was how this one was gonna play out. So yeah!**

**More up soon! Please comment and enjoy :) Less then three, guys!**


	4. May

The Gotham Charity Ball was one of the most important events in the city's history since 1865. It was a time for the elite to gather together in gossip and material wealth, a time of pretend and fake smiles. Money was raised for a chosen function to support the city, and the months before are a brutal debate of what poor subject the bestow their riches upon. This year, the mayor had personally asked for the sums to go towards building a new orphanage.

Gotham had six orphanages in its city limits, all over crowded and corrupted beyond refuge. Children were threaded into the system so fast the city had no choice but to keep the youths there, and it only made matters worse when little to no children ever came back up before reaching the legal limit.

The seventh addition, luckily, was secured on a one and a half acre lot, this was the first orphanage to be built closer to downtown rather then farther into the country or left on the edges of suburbia locations. Fifteen rooms total, two storied and an actual yard with its own playground and closed off area for the children.

While usually in these situations, the buildings would be constructed, unveiled for the public and then left in the hands of the commissioner, this project had found a slightly different ending. After receiving an extra fund from Gotham's billionaire, Bruce Wayne, the orphanage would be handsomely stocked with the latest technology and quality furniture decorating every room. Toys, food, utensils and even clothing was donated for the soon to be housing facility.

Many believed Gotham's White Knight was laying out his cards due to influence from his preteen ward, Richard Grayson. The twelve year old had definitely made his stand in Gotham society, tagging along at his guardians side in the stead of a beautiful vixen. Academically the boy was surely making his rise, taking place in Gotham Academy at a ninth grade level and still ranking much higher then any other children in his class. But as gossip and scandal was worth more then intellect, the kidnappings and tug of war with CPS was always the subject to follow the child; tonight being no different.

Bruce took a slow, frustrated chug from his champagne glass, nearly crunching the glass between his fingers when he heard yet another voice reach his ears. Child Protective Services had called Mr. Wayne to court following a case from the previous year, saying Richard was living in an unfit environment for a child. Many lawyers and prosecutors had taken a hit at the billionaire's young heart holder, but all had failed under misconducts and almost wins. This had been the longest trial of them all. They always got longer, continually showing up and dragging the Wayne family under a dark cloud of questioning.

With the case going to court in less then a week, the socialites were abuzz with not-so-secret glances and whispers just slightly too loud.

Thank God Dick hadn't joined him that night, what with everyone being obvious with their dense judgments. It would surely kill what was left of the shine in the back of his blue gaze.

Two nights prier, Batman and Robin had chased local weapons dealer Zachary Toscone to the city ports. Two ships were to leave North America that morning and travel to central South America and trade their crates for metal cases. Toscone was driving one to a southern port before taking the weapons across land to meet up where the second ship arrived farther north. Batman had sent Robin to secure the captain of the second ship while he took out the engines. The duo was successful in the attempt to stop the ships, but in the process of tying up the captain Robin had been shoved off board by another crew member. It had taken Batman another thirty minutes to discover his young partner struggling in the harsh Gotham waters.

The boy would most likely have been fine if it hadn't down poured on the partners trek back to shores and their wait for police. After arriving in the cave well past midnight, Robin had a temperature of 101 and a cough that sounded like an arctic seal. Dick had wanted to join his father on the strenuous trip to the Ball, but Bruce had resorted to begging the boy to staying in bed to sleep off the remnants of the fever. He didn't need to be subjected to these bimbos and their nasty opinions.

Bruce watched the crowd disinterested and turned to glance at his watch for the thirteenth time. 10:58, meaning another good two hours in this substitute of hell. Maybe after Jonathon gave his speech he could leave early, say he has a meeting in the morning or something else these people would see more important then his son.

"Well you look like someone with a secret."

Bruce glanced over as Lucius slowly came to his side.

"Hello Lucius," Bruce greeted flatly. "And if my displeasure with the people of Gotham's aristocracy was a secret I'd say they're stupider then I had first thought."

Lucius waited to answer, choosing instead to accept his own glass from a passing cater.

"You certainly seem more clipped then usual." He commented with a chuckle.

Bruce didn't laugh along, just continued to watch. What was he doing? What was he doing _here_? He was a father, a father with a sick child at home who had probably already crawled into his guardian's bed despite how dizzy he felt whenever he tried walking. He shouldn't be here. He should be there.

"Lucius," Bruce said without looking away. "I need you to do me a favor."

"And God knows I haven't done enough favors for you." Lucius deadpanned.

Bruce gave a small chuckle of his own this time.

"This favor?"

"Cover for me."

"What?" Lucius finally took initiative to turn towards the man beside him.

"Cover for me." Bruce smirked, turning his eyes to look at his friend.

"Bruce," Lucius started. "This is important for the city, _you_ are the major donor. You can't just waltz out the front door and act like it won't pull the paparazzi in for a frenzy."

"Who said anything about going through the front door."

"Bruce." Lucius said, his voice almost sounding exasperated.

"Lucius," Bruce turned to his friend with a desperate look. "Please."

Lucius looked at the man he had watched from childhood, reading the distress behind those dark eyes. Bruce only ever got that look in his face when it pertained to a certain cerulean eyed child, a look that had never crossed Bruce Wayne's face until four years ago.

"If I hear about this in the papers tomorrow your on your own." Lucius lied.

Bruce gave a quick smile and a thankful pat on the man's shoulder. "If you hear about this in the papers then we both know I'm in trouble."

Sneaking out the back had been much easier then Bruce had thought. The parking garage Bruce had chosen was two blocks from City Hall and with the camera wielding hyenas circling the front doors it was smooth sailing.

When he set foot in the abandoned garage, Bruce gave into his suffocating feeling and quickly undid his tie. The car was parked on the lowest level. As soon as his door was closed Bruce revved the engine and pulled out into Gotham streets. Pushing the speed limit and using his blinker less then he should, Bruce clumsily buckled his seat belt. Despite knowing police rounds and back streets, he continued to watch the streets for fear of seeing a cruiser aching to pull him over.

With traffic not being a problem and going without a ticket, Bruce arrived back at the mansion in twenty minutes. While the garage was to the left of the house, it took and extra five minutes to get to the side of the house, park and walk through the halls and flights of stairs. Though he felt slightly guilty for making Alfred have to place the car back in the garage, Bruce found he could only think of getting rid of the constant rushing of worried thoughts.

Though Bruce just wanted to sprint up the stairs and barge into his son's room, he quietly pushed open the front door and peeked into the bark halls. He hoped Alfred had decided to turn in early, he'd rather not have to explain why he was home a good two hours before the party was over.

"You're home rather early, sir."

Shit.

Bruce closed the door slowly behind him, shrugging off his jacket into awaiting hands.

"How is he?" Bruce asked, feeling his worry slowly ebbing into exhaustion.

"His fever was still present before he fell asleep, I took initiative to give him something that might help him sleep more soundly." Alfred informed him.

Bruce gave a sound of acknowledgment. Turning to face his butler, Bruce had planned on explaining the situation as quickly as possible only to find him already descending out the front door.

"I'm sure you are quite tired, sir. You can detail your night to Master Richard and me tomorrow morning over breakfast."

Bruce waited until Alfred was fully out the door and walking down the drive way. Walking up the stairs and down the hall, Bruce found himself dragging his feet. Dick would be knocked out with the medicine Alfred had given him. Standing in front of the boy's room Bruce knew that as long as Dick was better and sleeping well, he would be happy. Pushing open the door Bruce looked directly towards the empty bed.

Bruce stood in the door way for a few moments, fully taking in the fact that his sick son was no where in his room. Panic was the first thing that came to mind, along with a sudden urge to call the commissioner at his home and demand an APB put out. While Bruce entered the room for a better look a small voice in his head told him that Dick always crawled into bed with him when he was sick, contagious or not; and if he didn't the billionaire would take it upon himself to do so.

Turning and almost running to his room across the hall, Bruce nearly threw his door off its hinges. There, with bundles of covers thrown around was his twelve year old warrior sprawled across the mattress. Bruce let out a sigh of relief, feeling his chest almost collapse from letting out so much air.

He made his way over to the bed and softly laid himself next to the boy who seemed to be breathing slightly harder then usual.

"Dick?" Bruce asked in a quiet voice. "Dicky?"

"Mmf."

Dick slightly curled into himself, further pushing the covers off of himself.

"Dick you've got to keep the blankets on, it'll help you sweat out the fever." Bruce moved the covers back over only to have them shoved back off.

"No, Bruce," Dick whined, still more then half asleep. "It's hot."

"I know, I know it is, kiddo." Bruce stroked the hair back from Dick's sweaty forehead. He was still pretty warm. Maybe he should get more of the fever reducer. Bruce knew he should, but he didn't want to leave, not when he just got there. That's when he remembered Dick had stayed in his room all day yesterday and Alfred had told Bruce he left an extra bottle in his bathroom.

"Wait right here," Bruce whispered. "I'll be right back."

Bruce found the container sitting next to his sink. Coming back in the room he found Dick had tried spreading himself out more to try and get comfortable.

_I'm sorry, chum. I know you must feel awful right now._

"Dick," Bruce shook the boy's shoulder, waiting until half lidded eyes found his in the darkness. "You need to take some more medicine. It'll help get rid of the fever."

"No, Bruce," Dick shook his head slowly. "No more."

"I promise, this will be the last time for a while."

Dick looked at the pills sitting in Bruce's out stretched hand. The boy took the medicine and quickly washed it down with a glass of water that had been sitting on the bed side table.

_Alfred must have asked if he wanted to sleep in my room_, Bruce realized as he helped Dick lay back on the mattress.

Dick threw his arm over his eyes, seeming to press the bridge of his nose. A headache. Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through ebony locks. Pressing his fingers against a warm scalp, Bruce moved from the side of his skull to just above his eyes. Dick moved his arm back his side and groaned as his father continued the massage.

"That feels good."

Bruce smiled down at the boy. "Go to sleep, Dick."

Dick tugged on the sleeve of Bruce's shirt, making the man stop his helpful rub.

"Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere." Bruce said without hesitating.

Gently stroking the child's cheek, Dick once again tugged fruitlessly on the expensive shirt.

Bruce chuckled. "You know you're very persistent when you want to cuddle, and not very skillful at hiding it either."

Dick would usually fight back the harmless taunt, but the incessant need to be held by his father was almost unbearable under the uncomfortable heat tearing through his body.

"Please." The boy said in a chocked voice.

Bruce felt his heart tug at the desperation that matched his own, but he knew there was one thing he had to do before he could fully give into the boy's request.

"I will, but you have to have the covers on, Dick. You need to get this fever out or we'll have to take you to Leslie at the clinic."

They both knew what that entailed. Coming up with a scenario as to why the boy had a fever to begin with. Of course they could just say it was a minor cold, but with CPS and the trial coming up, they couldn't take any chances.

Dick winced at the thought of having the cloth once again constricting his limbs and trapping the heat around him in a cocoon, but if Bruce would stay it would be worth it.

"Okay," The boy sighed.

"There's a good boy." Bruce bent to give a chaste kiss against the boy's forehead. _My good boy. _

Bruce quickly changed into more comfortable clothes, returning dutifully back to his child's side and under a thin layer of blankets. As soon as he situated himself on to the bedding, a face found its way to his neck and arms wrapped around his waste.

Bruce smiled as he in turn scooped the boy into his own embrace. Finally having his head on a pillow Bruce felt sleep flow over him, but not before a soft "Thank you" reached his ears. He pressed his face against dark locks and ran circles along a small back.

"There's no need for a thank you," Bruce said. "I'll always be here whenever you need me. And even when you don't."

* * *

**Sorry this took so long, but since there was no particular holiday for this month I had to improvise. I was hoping to have June up by now but it might be a little bit longer :/ sorry! But I'm working on that along with more for Those Baby Blues. Things have been hectic lately and hopefully in these next few weeks I'll be able to post more! Thanks for keeping up with me guy, more soon I promise!**

**Thank you and less then three!**


	5. June

"Leave."

Batman glared in response, this one a great deal angrier then the one he had worn just thirty seconds earlier.

"Batman," Superman groaned at the sight of the infamous scowl. "There's no need for you to be here."

"The hell there isn't." Batman gave a throaty growl.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Superman willed the headache that was forming to dissipate. This was the third unexpected visit from Batman in the last four days, and he was sure there had been more that had gone unreported or unnoticed by other league members.

Batman had been on an out of country mission with Green Lantern and Hawk girl in Eurasia. It hadn't taken long, a full day of travel along with three days of recon and finally attacking on the last day. Lex Luthor had a private shipping of illegal weapons being manufactured in the united states and sent to Afghanistan, Albania, I ran and Israel were all receiving guns and equipment from Luthor Corp. The mission itself had been easy enough, Batman didn't know why Superman had insisted on Lantern and Hawkgirl accompanying him.

Arriving back home had been a great relief, until Alfred informed him that Dick had left just an hour earlier on a mission with the team. Damn! Bruce had hoped to spend the weekend with his thirteen year old son, knowing full well that that Saturday was meant to be a special day.

Dick and Bruce had never made a huge show on Father's Day before, being too painful and too awkward; Bruce wasn't offended, he knew in his heart Dick was his son as Bruce was his father. This year, though, this time it would be different. Bruce was tired of dancing around the subject, deciding instead to see it as any normal day. He wanted to know, needed to...

Batman winced as he remembered the hurt he felt coming home to an empty bed and lonely breakfast. He knew, deep down, but it wasn't the same. He hated how desperate he sounded. Dick had witnessed the murder of his own children at a young age, and had it been anyone else, Bruce was sure they would never have recovered mentally as well as the boy had. He shouldn't have to tell his guardian that he saw him as his father, Bruce had no right nor did he rightfully deserve it.

Dick was too good, too pure. How the child had come into his care so willingly was still a marvel in of itself. His son was the complete opposite of himself.

"Bruce," Superman whispered tiredly. "Go home, the team should be home later tonight."

"Isn't that what you said yesterday?" Batman snarled. "It's been almost five days now."

"I know-"

"You said it was a simple recon mission, nothing more."

The fact that he wasn't yelling made Superman's skin crawl.

"Yes, but-"

"So, as standing in mission coordinator you should have reassessed the task and contacted me."

Superman gave the man a cautious look. "Bruce, are you angry that I allowed the kids to go on a mission or that I didn't call?"

_Both, you son of a bitch!_

"You _will_ inform me as soon as the team returns." Bruce informed the Man of Steel in a low voice. Turning on his heels he punched in his coordinates into the Zeta Tubes. "And _don't_ call me by my name outside of the cave again."

Once again back in the cave, Bruce slowly made his way to the computer and plopped into his chair. Yanking off his cowl, Bruce carelessly threw it across the floor, hearing it hit something on its way to a stop. This was antagonizing, waiting hopelessly for his boy to come home.

It was Friday, a nice summer day that would invite children with its warm embrace and sun baked kisses. It was days like these Dick would come stumbling in from school, begging to go for a run or work on updating their latest project.

Remembering it now, Bruce swiveled to gaze at the heap of mechanics. Almost a year ago Richard had bound into Bruce's study, rambling about how he had found something in the cave that needed his immediate attention. There, in the middle of his priceless, fortified cars and cycles sat a rusted old motor bike from years ago. Bruce informed Dick that he had found it sitting in front of the Wayne estate gates a few years previous, most likely from a group of teens that had staked out by his barrier. While the boy's dream of impressing his father had gone down the drain, it didn't minimize his excitement in the least. Dick pleaded with Bruce, begging him to help patch the bike back up.

"You already have the R Cycle," Bruce smirked, obviously amused. "Why would you want another bike?"

The twelve year old had given Bruce a strange look before replying, "But Bruce, you have tons of bikes _and _the Batmobile. Why can't I have just one more?"

Bruce had tried fighting the boy, but after finding his rebuffs having no effect the child pulled out the last stop.

"But Bruce, just think," Dick smile that smile that Bruce had only ever laid eyes on. The Bruce smile. "It's something we can do together. You know, bonding and stuff!"

Bruce only blinked at the child hanging off his sleeve in response.

"I promise I won't work on it without you!"

Knowing he couldn't fight him on this, Bruce finally agreed, making it seem like he was more resigned than he truly was.

Presently, Bruce and Dick had actually discovered many weekends filled with buying new parts and discussing with Lucius the multiple enhancements they could make. The rust had been replaced by sleek black metal, the gears covered in oil and shined to perfection. Bruce was planning on asking Dick if he wanted to work on it this weekend, just the two of them, knowing full well that just a few more hours and they would have a living, breathing beauty of machinery.

_If he makes it home in time_, Bruce thought glumly. _If he comes home at all._

Whoa! Bruce shot to his feet. Oh no, he can not risk thinking like that. No.

Rushing to the costume area, Bruce quickly tore his armor from his limbs. He needed to get out of here, to stop doing nothing and allowing his thoughts to wander. Redressed in fresh slacks and his father's old, plaid button up, Bruce practically ran up the stares.

Alfred had gone out to run errands, even though Bruce knew full well the pantry was stocked and no clothes were needed. His grumpy attitude was probably bringing even the butler down. Now out of the cave and back into the social area, Bruce found he didn't know what to do with himself. There was no socked feet padding against the floor, no childish pleas for midnight comfort, no secret ice cream burglars peeking into the fridge. Just quiet.

No, no he couldn't stay here either. There was too much nothing. In his haste, Bruce decided even without the invitation from Dick, he would go on a walk. Clear his head around the gardens, maybe think of his mother in a way that wouldn't make him want to crawl back into the cave.

The sun slipped through the cloud, warming the day in a way not usually seen in Gotham. It was nice; Dick would have loved it.

There he goes again. He was still too close to the house.

Bruce trudged along the faint path in the back woods, taking refuge in the trees and soft bird song. A small wind blew through the branches and dusted against the thin layer of sweat forming on the back of his neck. Probably should have worn cooler clothes, Bruce realized. Too late now, and Bruce wouldn't admit it aloud, but with no one around he knew he had worn his father's shirt for a reason.

As he made his way through the grass and bushes, he let his mind betray his usual stoicism and climb the steal coated and barbed wall he had deep in his subconscious. His father had been a plain man, but one who was fashionable in his own right. Thomas Wayne was a doctor among a few other minimal trades. He had learned painting from his wife, though not in a way that was appealing to the eyes, and had traveled the world in his youth. Bruce remembered on one of the rare nights where his father wasn't cooped at the hospital, he had taken out a large, worn suit case and set it neatly on the den floor. Bruce, at the time an age too young for him to remember, had asked him what it was in a voice he knew for a fact had been much more childish and high pitched then his now gruff and apathetic tone.

"This, my boy, is treasure." Thomas had said, eyes shining with mischief.

"Treasure?" Before entrusting his life to the job of crime, he had loved stories of pirates; Adventure and danger always coursing through his tiny mind.

"You bet, chum." Thomas let the nickname for his son take a warm sound. One that conveyed an emotion Bruce used with his own son, even if it was difficult for him to show most of the time. "Wanna see?"

Bruce couldn't believe he had even asked! What child wouldn't want to see treasure? As his father carefully unbuckled the leather clasps, Bruce picture the wonders held inside. Maybe there was gold, or a map that was older then he was, older then his father! _Well, maybe not that old_, Bruce had thought. _Father's pretty old_.

"Why don't you open it." Thomas moved the case slightly so it sat before the child.

"Really?"

Thomas nodded, watching as the boy eagerly tore open the lid. There, tucked inside worn cloth and a smell that stung you nose in melancholy, the sort of way that made you think of distant memories, was a handful of other worn, old things.

Bruce searched the suit case with his dark eyes that didn't really seem that dark, and turned to his father in confusion. "This isn't treasure."

"Why of course it is!" Thomas sounded as if it was the most ridiculous comment he had ever heard.

"But," Bruce reached for an old sock that lay neatly on top of toy train. "This is just a sock." Bruce wrinkled back his nose in a way only a child could do. "And a gross one at that."

Thomas gave a throaty laugh, plying the garment from his son's hands.

"This, my boy, isn't _just_ a sock."

"It isn't?" Bruce wasn't sure. It looked like a sock. He knew it smelled like a sock. It even had a hole where the big toe would go, suggesting it had been worn, though Alfred would never let any of the Wayne's go with a hole in their socks, that is just preposterous.

"No. You see this sock, belonged to a man that saved my life."

"Really?" Bruce gaped, mouth hanging open and all. "Someone saved your life?"

"Mmhm."

"But how? You're a doctor, you save lives. Why would yours need saving?"

Thomas laughed at the boy's seemingly sound logic, pulling him to sit in his wide lap. Bruce remembered feeling like he was sitting on the throne of King Arthur. His father was a very compassionate man, with patients and coworkers alike. At home, though, Bruce was given a different sort of affection, one that wanted to be intimate in a way of teaching him to be a man. It was a father's affection, and that was the way Bruce had lived. Being treated to such close interaction, one that gave way to near coddling, was a treat. _That_ was a treasure.

"You remember Uncle Stanley?"

"Uncle Stan that really isn't Uncle Stan cause he isn't your brother?"

"Yes, that one." Thomas smiled.

"You met him while you were stationed in Africa, right?" Bruce looked up at his father for conformation, his soft head of black hair bumping against his father's strong chest.

"That's right, chum. I was twenty, still in college and on an internship from the firm I was working at. This was just after I had proposed to your mother and already on my way to a separate continent and months away from home."

"Stanley was an explorer, a wannabe soldier whose father was too proud to see his only son die in war." Thomas stared off into space, remembering the day clearly for his son. "One day I was moved from the port village where I was stationed to a smaller village in middle of Nigeria. The soldiers that were moving me were only boys, barely grown into their own voices. While traveling through the jungle we got attacked by another village militia. One soldier pushed me into the cover of nearby bushes, just seconds before he was shot through the chest with three bullets."

Bruce knew his father wasn't trying to scare him, so he didn't feel any fear as his father told the story. Seeing his father recount the scene so clearly did make him fear for the man in the story, but he knew better then interrupt with a shout of terror.

"I thought I was going to die." Thomas confided. "I watched all five of the men accompanying me fall, dead before I could even think of helping them. I was sure they would come for me, find me cowering like a child and shoot me where I was and leave it at that. Then, out of the blue came a loud cry, one that should belong only to an ape or another primate."

Thomas was waving his hands, making a show for the boy while setting up the grand entrance.

"Then what?" Bruce asked softly.

"Well, there was your Uncle Stan, jumping out of the bushes like a mad man. He had a machete and was waving it around like a stick on fire to a tiger. He gave one of those guys a good bump on the head, I'm sure, but they ran before any of their troops could receive any real injuries. He found me hiding in the mud and almost refused to take a ninny like me anywhere, let alone back to civilization. Took us two whole days to make it to the nearest village, but after we did more soldiers took me to my newest assignment, Stan right on my trail."

"He went with you?" Bruce asked, cocking a thin eye brow.

"Sure did, followed me around the country for the next three months before I returned back to the states. He wrote to me while he traveled, even sent you a few toys when you were born."

"I remember, he's the one that gave me Trunks, right?" Bruce was speaking of the small, ragged stuffed elephant he had kept up in his room since before he could remember.

Thomas nodded. "He's visited a few times, but I don't think he could stay in the same place for too long."

Placing the sock tenderly back in the trunk, Thomas leaned back with his hands behind him on the rug and allowed the child in his lap to continue looking through the nick-knacks. The boy touched every single object, the rusted jacks, the old penny, the hat that had been stuffed at the bottom of the suit case making it scrunch up and lay flat. Bruce placed every little memory on the carpet, careful to space them apart. His father was right, this was treasure. Bruce tossed an old rubber ball from hand to hand. Was this his father's as a boy? Did a friend give it to him? Did he find it yesterday? Did he...

"What about this?"

Thomas resumed his old position, taking the sphere from his son's small hands.

He laughed. "This, this was Jimmy Harrison's prized rubber ball he got from the drug store for ten cents. He always rubbed it in the other kids faces that his father gave him a twenty five allowance every month. So one Monday morning at Gotham Academy, me and George Jenkins decided we'd..."

Bruce stared down at the weather worn tombstone. How many hours had Bruce and his father spent sneaking into the den behind Alfred and his mother's back, whispering little adventures between one another and playing toy swords out in the yard.

"What do I do?" Bruce asked out loud. "How can I give him what you gave me, even without saying it? Without actually looking into those blue eyes and say that I-" Bruce felt his throat constrict as the vowels tumbled from his mouth.

"You never told me how to be a father," Bruce admitted in teary contempt. "It always came so easily to you, you took every chance to show me you cared when I thought against it."

His father's grave stared back at him, holding back the answer. When he couldn't handle the silence any longer, Bruce shot to his feet and headed to his next destination. John and Mary Grayson's graves had been moved to the Wayne cemetery the year after Dick had joined their family. Dick had visited every day the first two weeks, staying for hours while Bruce was away at work.

Finding the worn patch of grass where his son usually sat, Bruce felt his knees go cool from the touch of the grass.

"I wish you could see the man your son is becoming." Bruce told the set of stone slabs. "But even at nine he was a very clever boy, I'm sure you knew."

_I don't want to take your place in his heart, I just want cherish him in a way I never could with another. I know having a child had never been on my agenda, and I know I don't deserve any child let alone yours. But...I'd like to think he could see me that way. I will never have one of my own, I know that for a fact. No child should ever have to go through my genetics. _Bruce chuckled at the thought. _He may not be mine biologically, but in every other way Dick is mine. He will always have a place in my heart no one could fill. I- I will always love him as my son. I hope you can understand. _

A tear brushed across his cheek before he wiped it away, pressing his eyes with the knuckles of his hands. His head was pounding from all the thinking and talking; that was usually Dick's thing.

Dick.

He looked to the sky, the clouds stretching like blankets across the horizon and the sun disappearing under night's dark cover. He should be home by now. If he wasn't, Superman would be very irritated to find him visiting once again. He smirked, maybe playing with the boy scout would cheer him up.

The walk home took longer then he thought with not having memories and worries plaguing his mind. Pushing open the back door, he found the house still empty but a different presence hovering in the air; like someone _was _home.

Bruce decided he should go back to the cave, call Red Tornado at the cave, ask about the team-

A crash echoed from the den, a loud crash against wood.

Bruce sped to the room where his father whispered his secrets, intent on reprimanding anyone who dared come into his house without warning. Slowly, Bruce pushed the wood door back and looked into the seemingly destitute room. What?

"Bruce!"

Said man turned to see a mop of black hair hiding behind one of the leather couches.

"Dick?"

"Where have you been? I've been looking all over the place for you, Superman said he tried to call but you didn't pick up." Dick looked at him from behind the cushions with a Bruce smile.

Bruce looked down at his cell phone. A missed call from Clark Kent. Damn! Why didn't he call again? Never mind, that isn't the point right now.

"Dick, I wanted to ask-"

"What's this?"

Bruce groaned at the interruption and moved to see what exactly the3 boy was talking about. He always loved asking questions at the wrong time. He opened his mouth to ask what exactly he was talking about, but stopped dead at the sight of an open suit case and a worn sock laying neatly on the top where he had placed it years ago.

"How did you...?"

"I was looking for the screwdriver so we could work on the bike and I found this in the closet. It's ancient! Maybe even as old as you." Dick laughs as Bruce scrunches his face so his nose wrinkles in an awkward way.

"Dick," Bruce said in light scolding. "You know I don't keep screwdrivers in the den or anywhere except the cave and the garage."

"Really?" Dick feigned confusion. "I was sure you told me you kept one in here."

Alfred. He must have told Dick about...

"What is all this stuff?"

Bruce smiled and looked down at the heap of junk he saw as anything but, this was treasure. He sat beside the boy and felt himself scoot just a tad bit closer.

"You sure you wanna hear all my father's old battle stories?" Bruce couldn't help a strange feeling of rejection boil in his stomach. Please say yes.

"You kidding? I wouldn't miss it for the world." Dick smiled another special smile. "I had Alfred buy ice cream at the store. Why don't I grab some spoons and we can talk about all this treasure."

Bruce smiled his own Dick smile. "Sounds like a plan, chum."

* * *

**I don't know about you guys, but I loved writing this chapter. As soon as I started I couldn't stop! I personally always loved Bruce's perspective slightly more then Dicks, in my stories or anyone elses because I feel he struggles more about emotions and the bond with Dick then Richard does. Dick's always got this ease with their relationship, but Bruce fights it sometimes. And I personally think he would get some of it from his dad, because I have always pictures Thomas as this stoic doctor who secretly would do anything for his family, but doesn't show it as openly as he could. IDK maybe it's just me. I love that. Conflict always makes for good make up hugs and speeches -3- Anyways, sorry about it being a tad bit late, I had wanted it to go up on Father's Day but of course I got busy. Sorry. I have been worrying about getting my license recently, as well as watching Merlin and trying to read all the books I have that I haven't gotten around to yet O.O**

**I hope you guys liked this one! July will be up in a few weeks, but until then I'm going to try and focus on Those Baby Blues ;) Please review and enjoy! Less then three, ya'll!  
**


	6. July

**Gotham City Police Department**

**46: 54: 18**

Gordon knew to keep his eyes peeled; that armor clad son of a bitch wouldn't get him this time. While Gotham had been relatively quiet these past few days, Batman made his presence known the last nine days in counting. Not that it was strange to find the Dark Knight of Gotham stalking the sky line, but his usual twilight to dawn schedule seemed to be mighty stretched. As soon as the sun set the vigilante was turning in common muggers to reports on Joker's imminent breakout.

Already early into the morning, Batman had gifted the commissioner with two bank robbers who never made it into Gerald's Jewels, a man who had been reported harassing his ex-girlfriend, three underage teenagers caught smoking joints under the Northern bridge and a scarecrow copycat who nearly killed Judge Weathers. Commissioner Gordon was worn out just from the stack of paper work he would be filling out the rest of that day.

_Probably take the day off, _he decided then as he softly rubbed his right temple. _Barbra had been talking about her transfer to Gotham University yesterday. Maybe if there's time I'll look over her transcripts. _

"Commissioner."

"Jesus," Gordon jerked forward, almost ramming into the railing circling the roof. Turning he found the dark shadow he had been dutifully searching for. "You do realize most people don't appreciate being snuck up on."

"I'll take that into consideration." The voice spoke flatly.

"Like hell." Gordon muttered under his breath.

Batman chose to ignore the commissioner's irritation. "Sal Gerange was seen receiving a new shipment of drugs on the Western docks. He and four of his men are being held in your cells."

Gordon only nodded. "Great, thank you for your generous contribution to the city."

"Is that sarcasm, commissioner?" Batman asked, not sounding very curious.

"Of course not."

Gordon swirled toward the door leading to the stairs that would take him back to the busy halls and full cells. As he was about to begin his slow walk of hesitation, he turned back towards the caped crusader who had surprisingly stayed in his place.

"I've been meaning to ask," Gordon said, crossing his arms. "Where's the boy?"

Batman looked down at the Gotham police commissioner with a new glare, one that wasn't his natural look but one that took more of a grimace look.

"Because I haven't seen him since the Phoenix Gang case." Gordon continued.

"Robin has been temporarily suspended from patrol activities." Batman quickly clipped.

"What? Why would you want to do that?"

"It has nothing to do with me," Batman snapped. "He went to the crime scene when I specifically ordered him to wait for me, and in turn got himself injured in the process."

Just before Batman began his daily thug kick, the Dynamic Duo had helped arrest one of the less critical Gotham Gangs who were in the process of distributing their new assortment of meth. Robin was the one to take down the men, but when Gordon had approached the team for their witness statements Robin was being silently berated by his angrier then usual mentor. While giving a dismayed recount of the action, Robin informed the commissioner that he had broken his wrist when a member smashed the butt of his gun against him while he had been momentarily on the floor.

"Aw, come on," Gordon threw a hand up. "The kid didn't do anything wrong. _He_ was the one that took down almost the entire entourage."

"That doesn't matter. He should have followed orders and stayed put until I got to the scene. Instead he got himself hurt and almost killed." Batman looked away.

Gordon felt his arms slowly fall to his sides, and he let the tension slip from his face. "Kids will be kids." He said with a sense on melancholy. "They make their own mistakes to learn their own lessons."

Batman silently watched the commissioner from the corner of his eyes, feeling that he should take the advice rather then respond in a way he knew he'd regret when he talked to Alfred.

Gordon took a deep breath and looked back to the shadowed corner, but the vigilante had already disappeared into the endless night.

**Gotham Mansion**

**34: 23: 09**

"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice filtered in from behind. "If I may suggest, don't you think it best to spend the day around other living beings?"

Bruce lay slumped in his chair, his feet stretched completely out before him. He knew Alfred disagreed with his current position, head pushed almost to his chest, arms up on the arm rest and his spine almost completely arched. It was uncomfortable to an extent, but through the night he had found himself slowly slinking lower and lower down his chair.

"Master Bruce," Alfred repeated as he slowly approached. "You have been absent from work the last three days."

Bruce groaned and slipped farther.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said sternly as he came right beside him. "Do you think your whining and moping will make Master Richard come back faster?"

Bruce looked up at Alfred, his head reaching the back of the chair. The last few days, the only way to get Bruce to do anything was to mention Dick's name, but suddenly all it made him want to do was slink lower into the leather.

Alfred took a step back as Bruce stood from the chair, still clothed in his armor.

"You're right, Alfred." Bruce reached for his cowl. "I'm going to Watchtower."

Alfred said nothing, just watched as the cape swooped as Bruce stepped through the Zeta Tube.

**Watchtower**

**17: 00: 56**

"This is the third time he's come up to the tower." Wonder Woman said beside Superman.

The two stood in the doorway of the meeting hall, watching as the caped crusader silently mulled through files covering the criminal rates of Gotham.

"He doesn't have monitor duty until Thursday." Superman commented softly.

Wonder Woman looked at the man from the corner of her eyes.

"You should talk to him."

Superman felt his mouth downturn. "Why me?"

"Because you're his friend."

"So are you."

"I, unlike you, rarely see him outside of work."

Superman sighed. "And whose fault is that?"

Wonder Woman turned to him with her brow raised and her lips pursed.

Superman walked into the room, silently deciding on his strategy for the situation. Batman sat hunched over the table, the files and folders spread across as much room he could get. The Man of Steel came to stand over the back of the chair, trying to get a glimpse of the work load.

"What is it?" Batman growled.

"Oh," Usually he kept quiet for much longer. "Just checking on you."

Batman looked back at the hero behind him, probably giving him the same look Wonder Woman had given him before. Superman looked away from the masked eyes and awkwardly scanned the room Batman had been camped out in.

"Superman,"

"You know, if something's wrong with Gotham there is no shame in asking for help."

"Superman,"

"And if A's sick or something and you and Robin have no idea how to take care of yourselves, I know quite a lot about modern living styles."

"Superman,"

"Then again, I guess Robin knows quite a bit about modern, or under modern, living."

"Superman,"

"Hm?" Superman chose to look down once again, only to find the dark hero had already turned back to his work."

"Shut up."

He nodded. "Right."

He stood over his shoulder for a few moments. When Batman continued ignoring him, Superman pulled out the chair to his right. Just as he sat himself into the metal seat he found Batman already on his feet and shuffling his papers neatly back into their folder.

Superman looked up at the vigilante, but all he got was empty space. Batman was already pushing past Wonder Woman and heading towards the zeta ports.

Both heroes watched him go, turning to one another once his dark presence was fully dispersed from the room.

"I told you." Superman stated bluntly.

**Wayne Tech**

**5: 46: 55**

Bruce felt like wrecking ball was just continually bashing into his cranium. The last four hours had been spent in a cramped meeting room, full of disinterested men and uncomfortable shifting of leather. Why is it every business transaction had to concur upon the presence of both he and Lucius? He needed to change that rule.

Rubbing his temple, he headed slowly back toward his office. Thankfully he only had three more hours in this hell before he could leave and get on the road. How long had it been? Days Weeks? It seemed longer.

Linda, his assistant, sat at her desk, clicking the phone every few seconds as she took calls. Pushing through the thick doors, he felt the bustle of the halls drift to a slow draw and fade into a dim hum.

That is until the loud drum of Paul Simon hit his ears. Bruce looked to his desk, finding his computer playing the music and his chair in a different position then left. His eyebrow twitched. That new mail boy had better not be messing with his desk again.

Marching over to the chair, he quickly spun the back to find lanky legs pretzeled together and a back arched the way his had been the previous night. Dick had his head bent completely to his chest where he looked down to his hand hold Lucius had given him at his last visit.

"Dick?"

"Hey," he moved the device slightly to the left. "What took you so long?"

"What?" Bruce felt his mind flip through information. "You flight wasn't supposed to get in till five."

"What are you talking about, my flight came in two hours ago. Didn't Alfred tell you?"

That cheeky bastard.

Bruce felt his mouth try to form words but none seemed to fit well enough. Soon Dick turned the power off and looked up at the man standing over him. He smiled.

"I missed you too."

Bruce's chest suddenly collapsed from a breath he had been holding the last few days. He pulled the fourteen year old up from his seat and into his grasp. Dick returned the embrace, but not soon after Bruce seemed to realize he had pulled on the boy's left wrist. Pushing him back, Bruce pushed up Dick's sleeve to find no bandage.

"I took it off on the plane." Dick stated.

Bruce scowled. "Dick,"

"Yeah, yeah, but everyone would have seen it and it didn't hurt that bad." Dick smiled again.

Bruce felt his fingers gently rub against the pulse point under his touch.

"So, whatcha been up to since I left?"

Bruce smiled this time. "Nothing exciting?"

"Yeah?"

Bruce grabbed his coat off the back of the chair, tugging Dick towards the door.

"Come on."

He was home. Things could go back to normal.

"You're still grounded."

"Aw, shucks."

* * *

**Well that took forever.**


	7. August

He had never thought of the cave as dark. Outsiders, he knew, would see it that way. Dark. The walls were shadowed in the darkness, the air thick with silence. Lights hummed in the background.

"Dick."

Bruce stood in a darkened corner, cloaking himself in the once less prominent darkness. The cowl had been pulled back, hoping that would help the situation. He listened for frantic breaths and rustling of feet. The boy was just a few feet in front of him, tucked back against the wall.

"Dick," Bruce begged. "Please come out."

The cave hummed silently as the dark was suddenly filtered with artificial light. Black and red sat curled tightly together. Dark hair stood in a messy heap from fingers hitching themselves to the scalp. Bruce watched his shoulders rapidly move up an down, his breathing increasing with every breath.

"Dickie," Bruce slowly knelt to his knees. His cape pooled around him like a black hole.

Fifteen feet. He was a mere fifteen feet from his boy and he couldn't do anything.

Alfred watched from the back, knowing any sudden movement or advancements would only aggravate the child currently shaking hysterically. In the thirty minutes since the duos return, the young master had raced from the car and into any dark corner he could find before Master Bruce discovered him.

Bruce knew it had been too long; the serum was making drastic changes every second. Scarecrow was never a villain Batman had thought of hard to reprimand, it was the ways of destruction that caused trouble. While evacuating Gotham National Bank, Robin had taken the executive office where the manager and three VIP clients had been discussing the Germany business transaction for the next day. While Scarecrow's bombing devices were usually quite easy to detect, the disarming would differ from the varying designs of detonation. While removing the bomb, Robin discovered Scarecrow had hidden the real bomb, the first being a decoy, beneath the desk centered in the room.

Robin managed to move the civilians out of immediate danger, but had in turn locked himself in the fumigated room. In the two minutes it took Batman to unlock the door and remove the gas, Robin had already entered into a confusing state of fear. Somehow he had coerced the boy into the Batmobile, but as soon as he entered the cave the boy had bounced on the walls to avoid him.

"Dick, I need to give you the serum, but I can't have you popping a vein when I try to put the needle in your arm."

Dick had began rocking himself on the balls of his feet, mumbling to himself.

Taking the chance, Bruce slowly crawled a few feet closer.

"No, no no no," Dick voice came out in a harsh whisper. "I can't...I can't."

Hearing his son's voice on the edge of sobbing, Bruce nearly flung himself to the figure before him. Dick had, at some point, ripped his mask from his face. Between the cover of his arms that were crossed over his head, the skin around his eyes were blushing pink and his eyes were glasses with tears.

"Dick,"

"No, can't you see?!" The boy yelled as he tried to press his back further into the wall. "I can't, I just can't do it!"

"You don't," Bruce said stretching his arm gently out and scooting a step closer. "You don't have to do it, chum. I promise."

"You're lying." Dick sobbed, voice thick with tears. "It's what you want, you told me! But I...I just, oh God, I can't."

Bruce turned to speak over his shoulder as Dick immersed himself in ramblings once more. "Alfred, get me the antidote."

"Yes, sir."

Bruce turned back to his son, moving slowly forward until he stood nearly toe to toe.

"Dick please," Bruce tried to reach out to brush his hair back from his face, but in turn got an arm shot out in defiance.

"No, don't!"

Finally witnessing the look of pure terror written on the boy's face, Bruce followed the blue eyed gaze to the symbol decorating his chest. His fingers twitched from their still outstretched position.

_What...?_

"Master Bruce."

With Dick focused fully on the man before him, Alfred chose the time to hand his older charge the syringe, prepped and ready. Bruce had to take a moment to stare at the instrument before finally reaching for the needle.

Dick barely seemed to notice Bruce cutting the material of his sleeve away. The needle softly punctured the boy's skin, filling his veins with the relaxant he needed. Handing the needle back to Alfred, Bruce pressed his thumb over the dot of blood appearing on Dick's bicep. He counted to thirty. Dick's face and muscles slowly relaxed under his grasp, but the shakes of exhaustion didn't leave his body.

"Dick?"

"Bruce, I...I,"

Finding the child's voice to be more welcoming then that of before, Bruce pulled his son close, but not before pulling the cape beneath his cheek and over his chest. Richard tucked himself into his father's hold, Bruce's hand still clenching his arm.

Bruce's free hand reached up to gently rub the boy's scalp, his hair soft through his gloves. Finding his lips on his child's crown, Dick let loos a tired sob.

"Dick-"

"Please, Bruce. I can't. Not now, I-"

"No, no it's okay." Bruce reassured after hearing the words that matched so similarly to his son's previous mumblings. "Just relax. You're okay."

Bruce tried to maneuver his cape around Dick without showing too much of his costume, but with the boy nearly unconscious he found himself carrying him toward the costume area.

"Master Bruce?"

"I don't know, Alfred." Bruce said tiredly.

Changing into sweats, Bruce helped Dick remove his costume and into pajamas before carrying him to his room. Placing the fifteen year old in his bed, Bruce brushed his unkempt bangs from his face. In a sudden act of parental instinct, Bruce leaned down to pull a nightlight from years ago out of the bed side table. The soft glow lit the room in a faint orange.

He stood beside his child's bed for a moment. When he crawled into bed beside his son, he felt a soft pressure nuzzle closer towards him. Because with darkness all around him, he would need someone to help him chase away the nightmares.

* * *

**Late again. Oops. Well, here you go.**

**I feel like I used a LOT of big words.**


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